


Lucky

by yohan



Series: Autodidact [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Kissing, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohan/pseuds/yohan
Summary: All at once, Connor became aware that he was naked under his clothes. The fabric of his pants dragged against his inner thighs whenever he moved. His shirt brushed the maintenance port in his chest, where Hank had opened him up last night. The realization was positively Biblical: Connor had tasted the forbidden fruit, and now he was squirming in his desk chair when he ought to be working.A porny sequel toAutodidact, although it probably works as a standalone.





	Lucky

The day after, Connor had to deactivate the sensory upgrades.

It all began well enough. Connor shut off Hank’s alarm and woke him by stroking his unruly hair, rewarded with a smile of dawning realization as Hank opened his eyes. They kissed four times that morning before work. The first time, long and slow in bed, while Hank was still half asleep. Then twice in the kitchen, and once more in the car. Hank was so uncharacteristically cheerful that when they arrived at the precinct, Detective Reed remarked with a smirk that Hank must have gotten laid. As if it was comically unrealistic to imagine Hank finding a sexual partner. But Hank just shot him a wink and said, ‘Yep, something like that,’ before turning away, leaving Reed without a snappy comeback.

So far, so good. Things only became problematic once Connor reached the boring part of the day.

Waiting for Hank to return from a meeting, Connor’s mind began to wander. The memory of Hank’s mouth was a lot more compelling than cross-referencing witness statements. Losing focus, Connor broke his cardinal rule of _no thinking about sex at work_ , shifting in his seat as he remembered the way Hank had shouldered his legs apart last night. The bite that had made him curl his hands into fists.

To assist with evidence-gathering, he'd been programmed with perfect recall. It no longer felt like an entirely practical skill.

All at once, Connor became aware that he was naked under his clothes. The fabric of his pants dragged against his inner thighs whenever he moved. His shirt brushed the maintenance port in his chest, where Hank had opened him up last night. The realization was positively Biblical: Connor had tasted the forbidden fruit, and now he was squirming in his desk chair in an office full of overcaffeinated police officers. Androids weren’t meant to fidget. They _certainly_ weren’t meant to experience sense-memories.

The only solution, Connor decided, was to shut off his tactile sensors. This turned out to be a problem in itself, because after weeks of having the upgrades activated 24/7, it was like being muffled by a blanket. Everything felt subtly _wrong_ , to the extent that Hank noticed within minutes of getting back from his meeting.

‘You okay?’ he asked under his breath, leaning over Connor’s desk.

‘Fine,’ said Connor, who was back to sitting perfectly straight. ‘I shut off my upgrades. Temporarily. Too distracting.’

‘Huh, okay,’ said Hank, and then a second later, ‘ _Oh_.’ Now he was grinning, and Connor very pointedly went back to reading his boring witness statements.

He kept the upgrades off until they got home that evening. Until they stepped through the front door, to be precise.

As the lock clicked shut behind them, Connor turned and pushed Hank against the hallway wall, worming his hands inside Hank's jacket to find the warmth underneath, pressing his face into Hank’s neck so his beard crinkled pleasantly against Connor’s skin. Hank made a surprised noise and pulled him into a brief, smiling kiss before they were interrupted by Sumo, who bounded over to greet them and nearly knocked Hank over at the knees.

‘Come on, you dumbass,’ said Hank, bending to rub Sumo’s ears and push him to the ground. ‘Gimme a minute, we haven’t forgotten you.’

*

Watching Hank cook dinner, Connor’s mind offered up a recurring domestic scene from human movies and TV commercials. One person would be standing in a kitchen much like this one, while the other - usually clad in adorable socks and a shirt, but no pants - would come up behind them and wrap their arms around their waist. A universal image of casual intimacy.

Connor went over to stand behind Hank at the stove, but got distracted by the steady beat of Hank’s pulse at his neck. Slowly, to avoid startling him, he wrapped a careful hand around the base of Hank’s throat. The skin was warm and soft under his collar, and while there was a momentary twitch of surprise when Connor touched him, he didn’t move away.

‘You’re not planning on strangling me, are you?’ said Hank.

‘No, I wanted to feel your pulse.’

‘You’re a real weirdo, you know that?’

‘Given that I’m the only android in your immediate social circle, you don’t exactly have another point of comparison,’ said Connor. ‘Maybe  _you’re_ the weirdo.’

‘Ya got me there,’ said Hank, and nudged Connor away so he could pour his pasta onto a plate. Actual cooking had taken place. Progress. ‘Speaking of weird, what was up with you today? I’m beginning to wonder if I misunderstood how your upgrades work. Do they make you perpetually horny, or what?’

‘I am not _perpetually horny_.’

‘I mean, don’t get me wrong,’ continued Hank, sitting down at the table. ‘I understand. There’ve been times in my life when I’ve wished I could turn my dick off, too.’

‘My sexuality is not governed by involuntary biological responses, Hank. It’s only an issue if I lose focus and concentrate on the wrong stimuli.’

Hank looked amused. ‘I hate to tell you this, but that’s literally the definition of being horny. You thought about sex and wound up getting turned on? Q.E.D. That’s pretty fuckin’ normal.’

Connor frowned. ‘Are you trying to embarrass me?’

‘Hey, no. I’m just teasing.’

‘In that case,’ said Connor, leaning over the table as if they were in an interrogation room. ‘Turnabout is fair play, Lieutenant. Yesterday, you said you’d been thinking about us together for a long time. What were you picturing?’

‘Aww, come on.’

‘I’d like to know.’

Hank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I don’t know, Connor. I tried not to think about it at all, okay?’

‘Why?’

‘It felt kinda sordid, you know? Disrespectful. Most people don’t want their fifty-year-old coworker lusting after them. And I was worried you’d use your magic powers and deduce what I’d been thinking about. So I mostly just tried to shut it down.’

This was news to Connor. During the long weeks when he’d nourished his own one-sided desire, he’d never felt much guilt about his fantasies. Mixed feelings, certainly. It wasn’t pleasant to be in love with a person, to be around them constantly, and to be sure your feelings weren’t returned. But imagining sex with Hank had been a bittersweet pleasure. A hobby, almost, although he wouldn’t refer to it like that out loud.

‘Do you feel like I was disrespecting you?’ asked Connor, worried. ‘When I fantasized about you without your knowledge?’

‘That’s different.’

' _That_  seems like a double standard.’

Hank groaned. ‘I finally understand every person who ever complained about dating a detective,’ he said. ‘Fine. Fine!’ He put his fork down, scrubbing a hand through his hair. ‘Okay, this is embarrassing, but most of the time I let myself think about you like that, it was kind of... PG-rated. Domestic. I didn’t know if you could even _have_ sex, so I guess I spent a lot of time thinking about kissing you. Just making out like teenagers.’

‘Just kissing?’

Hank was blushing. ‘Yeah.’

‘I’d like to try that,’ said Connor quietly, and when their eyes met, Hank’s embarrassment was already coalescing into something hotter, a crackling energy between them.

*

This time round, Connor got to undress him properly. They’d already been kissing long enough that Connor felt heavy with it, like the thirium was thickening in his veins. His skin was so oversensitized that his clothes felt abrasive, and he was glad to pull them off and sink into the softness of Hank’s belly, his chest. He pressed his mouth to each new patch of skin, Hank’s quiet breath the only other sound in the room.

He hadn’t been lying yesterday, when he told Hank he wasn’t designed for this. Crawling up the bed to lie in Hank's arms, Connor was fully aware of his inhuman weight: almost two hundred pounds of metal and plastic and liquid fuel, cushioned slightly by his malleable casing and synthetic flesh, but hardly built for comfort. He had to be careful not to elbow anything delicate, but soon they found a way to fit together, trading long, open-mouthed kisses while Hank’s hands stroked up and down his spine.

 _Making out like teenagers_ , Hank had said. They hadn't actually managed that for long, Connor pushing him against the kitchen counter and kissing him until Hank's breath caught in his throat, until he was tugging at Connor's shirt and they were both tripping over each other on the way to the bedroom.

Hank’s lips were hot and swollen now, his heartbeat easily perceptible against Connor’s mouth. It made Connor newly covetous, this tangible sign of his impact on Hank’s body. He wished he could have something similar for himself, that Hank could bite him and leave a mark. But without manually altering his skin to emulate a bruise, Connor would always look the same as ever. Everything Hank did to him was happening on the inside, in the synapses of his positronic brain, in bursts of electricity from his tactile receptors. When Hank's teeth caught sweetly at Connor's lower lip, it translated into code that shot through him and told every nerve-ending: _you want more_.

Caught between their bodies, Hank’s cock was unmistakably hard against his abdomen. Connor reached down and wrapped his hand around it, giving Hank something to thrust into.

‘How does it feel?’ he asked, as Hank broke off with a gasp, twitching up into Connor's hand.

Hank gave him a look that combined affection with a distinct aura of _You Idiot_. ‘Good, Connor. It feels good.’

Connor smiled and gave his shaft an experimental tug, watching as Hank’s mouth fell open. Straddling one of Hank's thighs, he found a new rhythm, holding himself up with his other hand. Sweat was breaking out on Hank's temples now, turning his silver hair dark.

He couldn’t kiss Hank like this but the pressure was so good. He rode Hank’s thigh, grinding down in time with Hank’s thrusts, Hank’s hands coming up to squeeze his ass. Hank looked bright-eyed and stunned, like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Connor knew exactly how he felt.

It was strange, how their individual greed could come together to create something wholly unselfish. For a long, timeless moment of sweat and friction, it was like they were merging into one overheating mechanism, Connor’s HUD throwing up error queries as his hips jerked hungrily against the meat of Hank’s thigh. Then Hank sped up and left him behind, coming with a groan and a sudden tensing of muscles. A wet heat spread between them and Connor wriggled up to kiss Hank’s slack mouth, no longer caring about his sharp elbows.

Clumsy with orgasm, Hank fumbled blindly for Connor’s chest panel, panting into his mouth. ‘No,’ said Connor unthinkingly, pulling away. He grabbed Hank’s hand and dragged it down between his legs, sighing with relief as Hank’s knuckles pushed up against his crotch.

‘You left me hanging,’ he tried to explain. It was the best way to describe the unfulfilled frustration humming beneath his skin. Wanting Hank was no longer just an exercise in preconstruction. His whole body was learning how to want him too, his skin raw and somehow empty without Hank touching him. He bore down on Hank’s hand, hard enough to make Hank wince.

‘Okay, I’ve got you,’ said Hank roughly. ‘But you’re gonna break my wrist this way, we gotta move.'

He pushed at Connor until he rolled off onto the bed, allowing Hank to get up. ‘C’mere,’ he said, sitting back and patting the mattress between his legs. Confused, Connor allowed Hank to guide him until he was sitting with his back against Hank’s chest, Hank’s knees bracketing his thighs. Connor now had an excellent view of Hank's bedroom wall but couldn't see his face, which seemed decidedly unfair.

‘You good?’ Hank asked. His breath tickled Connor’s ear when he spoke, his chest rising and falling against Connor's back. Connor leaned into it, enveloped by the warmth of Hank’s body. The position reminded him oddly of his old charging station at Cyberlife HQ. After reconnecting for the night, it would deliver a soft glow of satisfaction when he submitted his diagnostic reports. Of course, now he knew that satisfaction was a programmed response to encourage obedience. He no longer had any interest in blindly following orders, but he still enjoyed the way Hank wrapped a solid arm around his waist, holding him in place. Like it was time for Connor to plug in.

‘Connor?’

He’d forgotten to answer. ‘Please touch me,’ he said instead. With Hank sitting behind him, all he could see was the pale stretch of his legs between Hank’s, and then his own belly, wet with semen. When Hank moved to wipe it clean, Connor blurted out, ‘No, keep it.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Hank muttered, quietly but with deep feeling, and finally curled his fingers down between Connor’s legs, a slick, demanding pressure. Connor heard his own voice glitch in his ears, squirming in Hank’s lap. ‘That’s it,’ said Hank, pulling him closer, arm tightening around his waist. ‘You’re doing great.’ His words left an expanding warmth in Connor’s chest, which was ridiculous. He wasn't  _doing_ anything; just desperately hunting for pleasure, grinding against Hank's hand.

Connor closed his eyes, losing himself in a haze, grabbing at Hank’s thighs as if he needed an anchor. It left him utterly unprepared for when Hank scratched slow and deep with his fingernails. Four sharp lines like claw-marks, overloading Connor's sensors so they registered as red-hot and ice cold at the same time. He sobbed out loud, head falling back against Hank’s shoulder.

‘Again?' asked Hank, and Connor made some wordless sound of agreement. He must have deactivated his skin without noticing, because this time he could actually _hear_ Hank's nails against his chassis. It was an almost painful crescendo of sensation, building on every touch that had come before.

‘Can you control your sensors?’

It took a moment for the question to penetrate. Connor nodded and Hank’s other arm vanished from around his waist, leaving him bereft. Then there were fingers tracing his lips and Hank was asking, ‘Can you turn them up for your mouth? Just there?’

Hank had probably intended to offer him something soft, a cross between a sync and a kiss. His fingers dented the bow of Connor’s lips, a gentle touch that kaleidoscoped out once Connor increased his sensitivity. Overwhelmed by the new input, Connor's world shrank down to where their bodies were touching. His mouth opened automatically to take Hank's fingers inside.

Sweat, skin, traces of semen. Tastes he hadn't known from Hank before yesterday. Pressing his tongue against the pads of Hank’s fingertips, he surprised himself with a new realization: Hank’s hands were much bigger than his own. He'd known before, of course, but he hadn't  _known_. Ridged and scarred at the knuckles, they were so very different from Connor’s smooth synthetic flesh. Alone and hurting with want, back before he found out Hank was interested, he'd sucked on his own fingers. He'd easily managed four at a time, tasting of nothing more than sterile plastic. But even three of Hank’s might be too much. His lips were stretched wide, Hank fucking him shallowly, the rough skin of his hands sending starbursts of pleasure across the sensors around Connor’s mouth.

He’d become a living a circuit. A loop of sensation between the bite of Hank’s nails between his legs, and the thrust of his fingers against his tongue. Connor manually shut down his vision, then hearing, then sense of smell, until his body was a floating vessel in Hank’s arms. He wanted to stay suspended like this forever, yet he needed so much for it to end.

Hank knew, somehow, how to send him over the edge. He kissed the side of Connor’s neck, beard scratching against stripped-down plastic, and then Connor was shaking apart. Hank’s fingers slipped out of his mouth as Connor let out a sound he couldn’t hear. For just a moment, there was no analysis, no worry, no thoughts at all. It was a flash fire through his system, burning him out and leaving a blissful emptiness in its wake. 

Slowly, Connor reactivated his sensory input, and the world expanded beyond the confines of Hank’s bed. Street lights shone dimly through the cracks in the blinds. Next door, he could hear Sumo sleeping beside the couch. Last night's clothes still hadn't moved from the bedroom floor. When he looked down, he saw his body was dappled with an oddly organic-looking pattern of skin and exposed white plastic, leftover evidence of his tactile sensors reaching out for more.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Connor eventually. ‘How I can still want you so much, when I already... have you. As if I keep having to expand my capacity, but it's never enough.’ He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but he wasn’t programmed with the right vocabulary to explain himself. Maybe no one was.

Hank carded his fingers through Connor’s hair. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it gets you like that. Don’t worry, it’ll pass.’

But Hank hadn’t understood. Connor didn’t _want_ it to pass. Why would he want to be rid of this?

Connor turned over so he could disagree with him face-to-face, but halted at the sight of five little red marks on Hank’s leg. Fingerprints. Mesmerized, Connor reached down to fit his hand around where he’d dug into Hank’s thigh. The other side was the same. Tomorrow, those prints would be bruised to a deep purple.

‘Doesn’t hurt,’ said Hank, following his gaze.

‘I know,’ he said absently, still tracing the marks he’d made. He  _would_ know, if Hank was really hurt. ‘I like it,’ he added, because it was simpler than saying what he really meant: _I like that your body changes. I like your blood, which self-replenishes organically, and contains your unique DNA. I like that I can leave marks on you, so you'll go to work tomorrow with evidence on your skin._

He felt rather than heard that Hank was laughing at him, his ribcage shaking silently. ‘Did I say something funny?’ asked Connor.

‘No, no.’ He was still stroking Connor’s hair, something that felt different for Connor than it would for a human, but was still fundamentally satisfying. Hank wouldn’t stroke anyone _else’s_ hair like that. ‘I’m just feeling...’ Hank seemed to search for the right word. ‘Lucky.’

‘Lucky,’ Connor repeated, and found that he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@yohan_rA9](https://twitter.com/yohan_rA9)


End file.
